


The Patriotic Art of Lying for One’s Pack

by Birdpeople (DeusExMachina)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (obvs), Angst, Bisexual Derek Hale, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Derek and Boyd are bros, Hale Pack Lives AU, Mentor Derek, Multi, Racecar Driver Derek, Werewolf Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-07 23:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeusExMachina/pseuds/Birdpeople
Summary: “It’s Peter. He’s in town again. And he’s an alpha now."“So he declared himself to you, right? Like he’s supposed to? Considering Beacon Hills is yours?”Talia sniffed. “Hardly. But then my brother’s always been something of a loose canon. If there’s trouble, I want you as my second.”“And how long do you think this visit will last?” Derek asked warily.Talia’s eyes narrowed, and a chill crawled up Derek’s spine. He was so used to thinking of her as ‘mom’ that it was easy to forget that she was his alpha, too, and when she said ‘jump’, his job was to ask ‘how high’.---Or, the one where the Hale pack is still alive and Talia calls Derek home to clean up after Peter, including keeping an eye on the people he's bitten.





	1. Chapter 1

Derek stepped out of his car and onto Beacon Hills’ soil for the first time in over a year.

 

His family’s house looked just the same as he remembered, the fall leaves around it illuminated like wafers of flame by the setting sun.

 

Derek barely had time to make it to the porch stoop and sift through his keys when the door was flung open and he was met with an ululating battle cry. Just managing to step aside in time, he caught Cora’s foot and spun her around, releasing her so she slumped against the porch swing, rattling the chain that supported it.

 

“Really? A flying kick? You’ve been trying that since you were three, and you thought it would work now?” His tone was mocking, but he was fighting back a grin.

 

Cora blew her hair out of her face and bounced up to hug him. “Welcome home, bro.”

 

Derek wrapped an arm around her, surprised at the welling of emotion in him. “Thanks. It’s good to be back.”

 

Cora released him and he followed her inside. As usual, the Hale house was a buzz of latent activity. Some of his younger cousins went shrieking past, the smallest only partially-clothed, pursued by a harassed-looking parent who just had time to spare Derek a shouted greeting.

 

Derek felt the hum of familiar voices, half-unheard, settle over him like a cloak. Selectively social he might be, but he had missed this more than he had realized.

 

“Mom’s in the study,” Cora said, shifting from one foot to the other, clearly ready to get back to whatever she had been doing, now she deemed Derek to be properly welcomed. “Juliana’s in the kitchen. She said if you didn’t see her the moment you got home she’d make sure you didn’t get any desert.”

 

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Derek groused. “You know, I’m an adult. I’m respected in my profession.” Cora rolled her eyes. He went to see Aunt Julie.

 

Aunt Julie held court in the kitchen. She was a short woman with a generous figure and a penchant for beaded necklaces. No one messed with her on her home turf, not even Talia. The moment she saw Derek, she pulled him into a rib-cracking hug and told him to keep his dirty paws off of the cookies that were just coming out of the oven. He grinned, kissed her on the cheek, and stole a cookie for appearance’s sake, Julie’s playful growling following him down the hall on his way to his mother’s study.

 

“Derek,” Talia stood up as he entered and Derek suffered through his third hug of the day. He had forgotten how tactile his family was. It was nice, not having to excuse casual contact, nice being surrounded by people who just _got it_. He had missed that.

 

“Hi, mom.”

 

“Please, sit.” He sat, and Talia circled back around her desk, settling herself and looking serious. “You look well.”

 

Derek shrugged. “You told me to run home, so I did. What’s going on? Is everyone okay?”

 

Derek watched in consternation as Talia allowed a little of the tension she was feeling to bleed into her expression. “It’s Peter. He’s in town again.”

 

Derek tilted his head. “And? That’s it?”

 

“No,” Talia looked bitter. “He’s an alpha now.”

 

“So he declared himself to you, right? Like he’s supposed to? Considering Beacon Hills is yours?”

 

Talia sniffed. “Hardly. But then my brother’s always been something of a loose canon.”

 

“Have you confronted him?”

 

“No. The adults here know what him not declaring himself means, even if most of us are prepared to look the other way, considering he’s family.”

 

Derek leaned back in his chair, watching his mother. “Why did you call me back?”

 

Talia straightened the calendar blotter on her desk before looking Derek in the eyes. “Because if there’s trouble, I want you as my second.”

 

Derek stared. “But you said everyone’s letting this slide.”

 

“For now.” Talia’s mouth tightened. “But I’m damned if I’m going to let Peter try anything on _my_ territory, and we both know he’s not one to sit still and do nothing.”

 

Derek nodded slowly. Peter had been an inconsistent presence during Derek’s life. He was always in and out of Beacon Hills, and while he did expose Derek to some pretty valuable things, most of them had resulted in Talia screaming at Peter that Derek was too _young_ to be shown them. Derek used to resent his mother for that, but now more and more he saw the wisdom in not telling young, wet-behind-the-ears werewolves exactly what they could do when the consequences for fucking up were usually death or grievous harm.

 

“Why not ask Laura to be your second? She’s older.”

 

“Ordinarily I would.” Derek tried to hide how the words stung. “But she has her own pack in Portland. You said you’d visit soon, anyway. I just figured it would be a little sooner than you’d planned.”

 

“And how long do you think this visit will last?” Derek asked warily.

 

Talia’s eyes narrowed, and a chill crawled up Derek’s spine. He was so used to thinking of her as ‘mom’ that it was easy to forget that she was his alpha, too, and when she said ‘jump’, his job was to ask ‘how high’.

 

“As long as this takes.”

 

“Right.” Derek dropped his eyes, smoothing a hand down the leg of his jeans.

 

Talia sighed, perhaps regretting pulling rank on her son. “You can sleep in your old room while you’re here. You don’t mind sharing with your cousin again, do you?”

 

“No, it’s fine.” Derek stood up, recognizing the dismissal. “I’ll go and get my stuff from the car.”

 

Talia nodded, standing too. “Even under these circumstances, it’s still good to see you, Derek,” she said softly. “We’ve missed you.”

 

Derek gave her a half-smile. “I’ve missed you, too.” _Even if I haven’t missed the elaborate games of deportment. I bet normal people don’t have to worry about this stuff when they come home._

 

 _But then, we’re not exactly a normal family_.

 

\---

 

Derek shouldered open the door, tossing his duffle bag onto his old bed. It was smaller than he remembered, but he could tell someone had changed the sheets recently.

 

He cousin jumped up with a grin and made as if to hug him, and Derek just remembered in time to twist out of the headlock the hug transitioned into.

 

“You and Cora,” Derek grumbled. “Why do you always try to greet me with pain?”

 

“You always hurt the ones you love,” Miguel said wisely, slapping Derek on the shoulder. “And it’s not like you can’t take it.”

 

Miguel collapsed into his desk chair, grinning, and Derek gingerly sat down on his old bed. It gave a sad wheeze. “I see you’ve redecorated in here,” he commented.

 

Miguel made a face at the hodge-podge of papers pinned above his desk. “These are from a Polish translation I had last month that was getting the better of me. I decided in a fit of caffeine-fueled brilliance that I just needed to spread the pages out in a weird web-thing to get it.”

 

“Did it help?”

 

“Not in the slightest, but I finally finished the damn thing and have been too lazy to take these down.”

 

“Putting that history and linguistics double-major to good use, I see.”

 

“Yeah,” Miguel sighed, patting the stack of papers on his desk. “This one’s some kind of old French thing. The handwriting is atrocious, so I’m having to try and decipher that _first_ , before I can even get started on the translating. And I just _know_ this client’s gonna chew me out about taking too long, even with the weekly updates and estimates.”

 

“Sounds rough,” Derek drawled, and Miguel threw a pencil at him.

 

“What about you, hot-shot? I heard you made the cover of some fancy racing thingy. How’s that going?”

 

Derek hummed meditatively. “It’s going. You have to know a lot about cars to race, so I modified a lot of mine myself. I do okay.”

 

“I’ve heard you’re a _legend_.”

 

“And I’ve heard you’re an _ass-kisser_.”

 

Miguel rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why my mom thinks you’re the charming one.”

 

“Because I _am_. Have you _seen_ me?” Derek stretched ostentatiously. “Aunt Julie did threaten to skin me alive, though.”

 

Miguel put a hand over his heart, looking delighted. “God bless mom.”

 

“Mm,” Derek leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Did my mom tell you why she called me back?”

 

“No-o, not in so many words, but I kind of assumed that it had to do with Peter?” Miguel frowned. “Everyone knows he should have declared to Talia, and it’s putting people on edge that he hasn’t.”

 

“Not you, though.”

 

“Yes me, asshole. But, well, I work from home. I translate texts and don’t get paid enough. No one expects me to leap forward and defend Talia’s honor.”

 

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Wow, you’re actually worried for me.”

 

Miguel shrugged uncomfortably. “You don’t visit as much as you say you will.” And that stung. Racing took Derek all over the country, and occasionally he might miss a birthday or a holiday, but he was doing his best, barely out of college and living away from his pack.

 

But still, his cousin had a point. “I’m sorry,” Derek mumbled, shamefaced.

 

Miguel scooted forward in his chair and patted Derek’s knee. “Don’t worry about it,” he said briskly. “You can make it up to me by coming clubbing. Even though you’re a _terrible_ wingman.”

 

“ _No._ ” The last time Derek had gone clubbing with his cousin, he had been mistaken for Miguel’s twin and some guy had suggested a threesome, which was _not_ what Derek had signed up for. Nothing had come of it, but it had been a pretty uncomfortable exchange. Derek didn’t even get why everyone said they looked alike. Miguel was darker than he was, stocky where Derek was lean, and had Juliana’s dark, dark eyes. He also didn’t have the weird teeth thing that Aunt Julie called ‘cute’ and Cora called ‘freaky’.

 

Miguel sighed. “You will succumb. One of these days, you _will_ get laid. Mark my words.”

 

“Like I need your help for that,” Derek snarked, and had to dodge as Miguel made to grab him. “I think I hear your mother calling us,” he said hastily.

 

“Yep, time to set the table, I reckon,” Miguel said, tilting his head to hear better.

 

Something occurred to Derek and he hung back. “Wait, Peter’s not going to be there, right?”

 

Miguel snorted. “He may be stupid enough not to declare in pack territory, but he’s not stupid enough to lean on your mom’s good graces _that_ much. I think he has an apartment downtown or something.”

 

“Oh,” Derek was getting nervous now. It was starting to hit him what exactly Talia wanted from him. _Am I ready for this?_ “Good to know.”

 

\---

 

Derek could feel the tension in the house. The littler cousins, Miguel’s younger sister and the others, weren’t so sensitive to the atmosphere, but Derek could feel it. It was only a day or two before he was going stir-crazy.

 

Derek had been out reacquainting himself with the layout of Beacon Hills. The air was familiar and mild, and he wore it like a favorite coat that he had almost forgotten about. This was his family’s territory, and no matter the circumstances, he was acutely aware of how much had been missing his old haunts.

 

He was just stepping out of the grocer’s with a carton of eggs cradled in the crook of his arm when the sight of a familiar face arrested him.

 

Peter smiled, smooth as ever. “Hello, nephew.”

 

Derek hesitated, finally settling on a noncommittal, “Hi.”

 

“I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Back in town to see your favorite uncle?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

Peter glanced up and down the street. “We’re a little exposed here. Can I invite you back to my place for a chat?” When Derek looked suspicious, Petered added, “No foul play, I swear.”

 

“Just like you swore to mom?”

 

Peter’s smile narrowed a couple of degrees. “You’re awfully hostile. What have they been telling you up there?”

 

Derek deliberated. “Nothing.”

 

“That’s because there’s nothing to tell,” Peter insisted. “I’ve been good. Now, my place?”

 

Derek hesitated, but finally assented.

 

\---

 

“Can I put your eggs in the fridge?” Peter offered. Derek allowed it, sitting down at the breakfast bar and watching him closely.

 

The studio apartment was small and cluttered. One of the signs of a wolf recently separated from its pack, Derek remembered, was a need to simulate shared living space, the detritus of a communal life. That sent a pang through Derek, who hadn’t realized that Peter resented not being able to stay in the family house.

 

“Why didn’t you just declare to mom?” Derek asked, without preamble.

 

Peter straightened up, still facing the open fridge, water pitcher in hand. “I have my reasons,” he said softly.

 

“Well what are they?” Derek demanded desperately. “If you just declare, you could be staying with us, up at the house instead of here.” His gesture, encompassing the sad, lonely space, was lost on his uncle, who moved, dreamlike, fetching down glasses from a cabinet.

 

“If I declare, my actions are Talia’s responsibility,” Peter said carefully, handing Derek a glass of water. He leaned his elbows against the breakfast bar.

 

“Yeah? So?”

 

“So I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of a fuck-up.” Peter sipped his water. Derek wasn’t sure what to say. “Everyone knows I’m going to step out of line, and soon. They’re all waiting for it. And once I do, Talia’s going to have to deal with me. That’s why you’re home, right? To be her second?”

 

Derek remained silent, but Peter continued, not waiting for confirmation.

 

“If I don’t declare, whatever I do isn’t her fault. It’s as simple as that.”

 

“You’re not a fuck-up.”

 

Peter snorted. “You may be the only one who thinks that.”

 

“No, seriously, the others can think whatever they want, but why are you so sure you’re going to do something bad?” Now it was Peter’s turn to play at stoicism. “Unless you’re planning something, you have nothing to worry about, right? And accidents happen; so being in the pack would mean mom could protect you if one does. Beacon Hills is ours. No one else would be trying to punish you.”

 

But Peter was shaking his head. “I wish I could explain it to you, but you’re just going to have to trust me, Derek. And promise,” he hesitated. “Promise me you’ll do what it takes when the time is right.”

 

“What does that mean?” Derek was seriously alarmed now.

 

“Just know that I came back for a reason, just like I have a reason for the things I’m doing now. There are more important lives at stake than mine, and I’m going to need you to remember that. You know why Talia brought you here. Could you do it if you needed to? Could you kill me?”

 

“I don’t-”

 

“Derek?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Peter stared at him intently. “Promise me,” he said, and for the first time, Derek could feel the authority of an alpha coming from his uncle. And it scared him how obedient he felt all of a sudden, how willing he was to bend his head and succumb to Peter’s wishes. And he was sharply reminded of all of the warnings his mother had ever given him about how slippery Peter could be. How could it be that he sounded so sincere now? Could he be trusted?

 

“Promise what?” Derek’s tongue felt heavy and slow.

 

“Promise me you’ll kill me if my sister tells you to.”

 

And Derek looked into his uncle’s burning red eyes and he trusted him completely and grieved for him as if he were already dead. “I promise.”

                                         

\---

 

By the time Derek returned home, eggs in hand, he could barely remember the promise he had made Peter. He mentioned to Talia that he had seen his uncle, but just as if it had been in passing.

 

Derek was strange all week, on-edge. He took to getting up at five in the morning to go for runs. The shadow of the trees and the early-morning chill on his hot skin was soothing, but he was still restless during the day, torn between not wanting to be around people, and wanting to get out of the house. Miguel gave up asking him what was wrong and took to kicking him out of the room just so he could get some work done.

 

In the end, his mother’s summons came as a relief.

 

She was waiting for him in her office, ready to go. “He’s done it,” she said tightly.

 

Derek felt the tension break like water across his face and was alert for the first time in a week. “What did he do?” he asked, following Talia outside and sliding into the passenger seat when she unlocked the car. There was no question who was driving.

 

“Challenged me,” she said tightly.

 

The twenty-minute drive was silent, even as Derek burned to know more. But Talia was his alpha now, not his mother, and he would do as he was told, and stay silent until he was needed.

 

Talia parked the car by the edge of the reserves and Derek followed her, up familiar paths, through unfamiliar undergrowth, thicker and wilder than he remembered. After a while, he caught the scent that his mother had been following and almost stopped in his tracks.

 

Blood.

 

It wasn’t too much longer before they came upon Peter, sitting on a huge jut of stone. He was waiting for them, calm, almost peaceful.

 

“Hello Talia, Derek.” Peter was completely relaxed.

 

“Peter.” Talia’s voice was cold. “Where are they? The boy and girl you attacked?”

 

Derek’s stomach lurched as Peter examined the blood drying under his fingernails. “Beacon Hills Medical, I expect. Wonderfully efficient, those EMTs.”

 

“Why?” Talia’s teeth were clenched.

 

Peter stared at her, condescending and unimpressed. “Beacon Hills is more important than you realize.” He rose to his feet and Talia visibly tensed, stance shifting to the offensive. Without conscious thought, Derek mirrored her. He wouldn’t step in unless it looked like she was in trouble, but he couldn’t help but react to a direct threat. “I want it. I want my birthright.”

 

“It’s _my_ birthright,” Talia spat. “You may be an alpha, but you can’t handle a pack.”

 

“You’re right.” Peter smiled. “So I’m going to steal yours.”

 

Talia snarled, eyes glowing red, and leapt at Peter. Peter fell back, rolling with her until he was on top of her, baring lethal teeth and diving for her throat. She threw him off her and scrabbled out of her clothes, shredding her blouse and emerging sleek and lupine and dangerous. She pounced on Peter once more, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. He roared and shook himself, trying to dislodge her as her weight bore him to his knees. She released him, dropping to the ground before bounding to the apex of the rocky outcropping Peter has been sitting on. She taunted him with growls and he lunged, only to crack his face against the rock when Talia jumped, pushing off of his back to propel herself.

 

Peter snarled, blood dripping from his nose and hairline, staining his teeth red. Talia darted around him as he shook, his own transformation unsteady due to the blow he had just taken to the head. Talia dove to fasten her teeth in the side of Peter’s throat, but instead of dodging, he rushed her, managing to catch her by surprise and smash her against a tree, which shook on impact.

 

Talia fell to the ground, and Derek could see that her breathing was labored, a broken rib or two restricting the expansion of one of her lungs.

 

Derek stood firm as the remaining wolf turned devilish eyes on him. Derek was quick to slide his jacket off, and in an instant he was circling Peter in his own wolf form. Peter’s sides heaved and he staggered. In a moment he was half-human again, a hand raised to his head. He face was streaked with blood and he blinked it out of his eyes, staggering once more.

 

“Do it,” Talia rasped, and Derek looked over to see her, human once more.

 

Derek loped forward and Peter attempted to back away. Derek grabbed his leg in his jaws, closing them and _ripping_. A slick, sickening saltiness filled Derek’s mouth as Peter toppled, hamstrung and pleading.

 

Derek advanced, and some part of him, buried under the wolf, was surprised at how willing he was to do this. Yes, he couldn’t disobey his alpha, but for some reason this seemed so easy.

 

He thought about going right for the throat, but thought better of it, turning back to halfway human. He knelt on Peter’s shoulders, pinning him, fighting his weakening struggles, and got one hand shoved under Peter’s head, the other cradling his face.

 

He thought he felt Peter’s mouth move against his hand, could have sworn in that moment, his uncle smiled.

 

Then a crack split the air, and Peter moved no more. Derek stood, numb and exhausted. The fight had barely lasted a few minutes, but just then he desired nothing more than to lie down and curl up on the forest floor next to his uncle and sleep.

 

He wouldn’t mourn Peter. Not publicly. And no matter how much that hurt, it was the way this had to be. Derek helped his mother up, handing her back her coat. She stood tall, but he could tell her ribs were still busted. He took as much of her pain as she would let him, but then she waved him off so he could collect Peter’s body. She had contacts that would dispose of it.

 

Once they were back in the car, Talia took a beat, examining her son. “You did what needed to be done,” she said.

 

Derek was still. “You didn’t need me to kill him.”

 

“I couldn’t let him live.”

 

“But he was badly enough hurt that you could have struck the final blow.” Derek looked at his mother. “Why did you want me to be the one to kill him?”

 

Talia hesitated, before flipping down the sun visor in front of Derek’s seat. “Look at yourself.”

 

Derek knew what he would see before the words had finished forming in her mouth. He turned his head and met his own alpha-red eyes.

 

\---

 

Derek slept in the next morning. It was nearly noon by the time he was roused by a knock on the door. Miguel answered it, and Derek saw his mother standing in the doorway, holding a folder.

 

Derek sat up, fighting back a yawn. “What’s that?” he asked.

 

Talia stepped inside, holding out the folder as Miguel made himself scarce. “Information on the people Peter attacked. They’re in stable condition, but I want you to keep an eye on them. He was an alpha when he bit them, after all.”

 

Derek took the folder, knowing, as he did so, what this meant. “I’ll call my manager and tell her that I’ll be spending a little more time here than I originally thought,” he said, by way of acquiescence.

 

Talia tilted her head. “How are you doing?” she asked softly, moving to card through Derek’s hair.

 

He shrugged. Opened the folder. “Scott McCall and Lydia Martin,” he read. “Beacon Hills High students.”

 

Talia knew enough to realize that Derek didn’t want to talk about Peter. She could have pushed him, but backed off, remembering, perhaps, that she was no longer his alpha. By her design.

 

That night, deep in the woods and under the light of the waxing moon, as was proper, Derek swore his allegiance to Talia Hale in front of her entire pack.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek called Boyd.

 

Derek and Boyd had been friends for as long as Derek could remember. It didn’t matter that Boyd was a couple of years younger, because next to his quiet reservation, Derek always seemed positively exuberant. It was this: when Derek needed an escape from the pack, he went to the Boyd household, where Boyd could be depended on to play video games for a couple of hours, eat junk food, and complain about teachers Derek had had four years ago.

 

They’d met when a young Derek had been barreling through the woods, yipping and howling with the sheer pleasure of _going fast_ , smells whipping past his nose, safe to make as much noise as he wanted in the pack’s territory, when he’d encountered a young Vernon Boyd and his meticulously crafted forest shelter.

 

And by “encountered,” he meant, “smashed right through it.”

 

It was practically the only time Derek had ever heard Boyd raise his voice. Derek had been impressed by the sheer inventive variety of things seven-year-old Boyd had called him and had promptly introduced himself.

 

When he discovered that Boyd had been practicing for a merit badge, he’d eagerly offered his assistance.

 

Boyd still blamed Derek for never getting that badge.

 

Apart from Miguel, Boyd was probably Derek’s best friend.

 

And, bonus, he also knew that Derek and his whole family were werewolves.

 

When Talia had discovered this fact, she’d dragged Boyd in for questioning and found, to her surprise, that her son had made a real friend. A loyal, soft-spoken human who might, with luck, be able to keep his mouth shut without requiring her to put the fear of god into him, which was fortunate, because in her opinion her only son could do with some normal friends: ones who might tame some of his wilder tendencies and be there for him in his black moods in a way a mother who is also your alpha cannot be.

 

            So Derek called Boyd.

 

            “Hello?”

 

            “Boyd! Did you miss me?”

 

            “As I live and breathe, that can’t be _the_ Derek Hale, can it? Is mister hotshot himself gracing us with his presence? Has he descended from on high to bestow his goodwill upon us?”

 

            “Christ, dude.”

 

            “What can I say? I’m glad you’re back.”

 

            Derek knew Boyd couldn’t see him, but he fought back a grin. “Glad to be back. Lunch tomorrow? Diner?”

 

            “ _The_ diner?”

 

            “Naturally.”

 

            “Be there with bells on.”

 

            “That won’t be necessary.”

 

            “Jingle, jingle, Hale.”

 

            “Weirdo.”

 

            “Furry.”

 

            Derek hung up, laughing despite himself. He knew he’d lost that round but damn he forgot how weird his friend could be. Still, it would be good to have a confidant, someone outside the pack to take a neutral perspective. God, he’d forgotten how much he missed Boyd.

 

\---

 

            Derek was on his second milkshake by the time he finished telling Boyd about Peter, Derek’s newfound alphahood, and the ongoing tension at having two alphas living under one roof, the last of which persisted even after he’d sworn loyalty to his mother.

 

            “I thought it would just be like before,” Derek said. “After all, I’m still family, and I was always loyal to mom before. But now though? I don’t know.” He paused to take a rattling sip, poking his straw around to get the last of the ice cream. “It’s like, she can’t really expect me to do as she says all the time? Swearing to her is technically a courtesy, even if it is customary to do it, but being an alpha means I’m expected to start my own pack, like Laura, even though I’m here and I’m still family? I don’t know, it’s just… tense.”

 

            Boyd dumped sugar into his second black coffee. “What does Miguel think?”

 

            Derek blew out a breath. “I don’t even know. He can’t really avoid me when we share a room, but I get the feeling he would rather not talk about it to me. Cora doesn’t care, but she’s still too young to be really into this political stuff.”

 

            Boyd shook his head. “Werewolf politics,” he sighed, earning him a weird look from their waitress, who’d just come by to deposit their food on the counter in front of them. He gave her a demure smile. “Just planning our next DnD campaign,” he said. “I’m the dungeon master, but we’re looking for new players. You interested?”

 

            The girl curled her lip and walked away, muttering about nerdy guys.

 

            “Don’t push it,” Derek said lightly. “DnD is trendy now. One of these days you’re gonna say it to the wrong person and end up actually having to run a game.”

 

            “I’d do it too,” Boyd raised his mug solemnly. “That’s how good a friend I am. Anything to keep your furry secret.” He snickered as Derek smacked his leg.

 

            A minute of blissful silence ensued as they munched.

 

            “Oh!” Derek said. “I almost forgot: the kids Peter attacked? I think they were in your year. Do you know a Lydia Martin or a Scott McCall?”

 

            Boyd hummed a little. “Not well, but if you’re wondering if they’re okay, you can ask Scott for yourself since he’s sitting right over there.”

 

            Derek resisted the urge to whip around in his seat and instead turned casually. Sure enough, two boys who must be Boyd’s age, which was to say, fresh out of high school, were sitting in a booth, scarfing down brunch. One of them was the guy from the file Derek’s mother had handed him and the _other_ …

 

“Who’s the friend?” he asked casually.

 

The kid was pretending not to be staring at him. He gave him an easy smile and a little wave.

 

Boyd shot him a knowing look. “Stiles Stilinski.”

 

“The sheriff’s kid?”

 

The kid looking around and then mouthed ‘ _Who, me?’_

 

“And word on the street is he’s single.”

 

Derek was lost in thought. “Mom told me to keep an eye on Scott.”

 

“What, like, stalk him?”

 

“No, weirdo, just get to know him. Come up with an excuse to check up on him.”

 

Boyd locked eyes with him. “No.” He said.

 

“What?”

 

“I know that look, hotshot. That’s your ‘I’m about to break some hearts’ look.”

 

“I mean, the sheriff’s kid is clearly picking up what I’m putting down…”

 

“No, Derek. He’s good people. Don’t go playing with him like that when you don’t know when you’re leaving.”

 

Here Derek looked at Boyd. “I don’t play with people,” he said.

 

“Oh yeah? How long has it been since you were with anyone? Like, really with anyone.”

 

“You know how long.”

 

Boyd looked at him. “Shit,” he said.

 

“Yeah. Shit.”

 

“You over her?”

 

“How do you get over someone after that?”

 

Boyd shook his head. “I don’t know, man.”

 

Derek fiddled with a paper napkin. “Would it really be so bad to ask him out?”

 

“Are you seriously thinking about this, man? I mean, are you sure?”

 

Derek looked at Boyd again, and if Boyd hadn’t known Derek for so long, he would have been startled by how genuine that fake smile looked. “You’re overthinking it, Boyd,” he said. “It’s just a date. Who knows? Maybe he’ll say no.”

 

Boyd snorted and the tension was broken. “To _you?_ Not likely. Unless he’s a saint.”

 

Derek grabbed a pen from someone else’s abandoned check and clicked it, the grin on his face now definitely real. “Guess we’ll find out.”

 

\---

Derek was definitely flirting with Stiles. And that was definitely okay, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing weird about the guy who had inadvertently jump-started Stiles’ sexual awakening when Stiles was a thirteen-year-old loser and Derek was an incredibly popular seventeen-year-old lacrosse star suddenly taking an interest in Stiles.

Oh wait no, that was incredibly, deliciously, mind-bogglingly weird.

Stiles may have graduated high school five weeks ago, but some dynamics are set in stone.

And yet here was Derek Hale, defying all social hierarchies and openly _flirting_ with _Stiles_ in a _public diner_.

So of course, Stiles did the only thing that made sense in the situation and pointed at himself mouthing, 'Who, me?'

Scott may have been snickering as Stiles had a mini freak-out but holyshitballs the really _hot guy_ was flirting with _Stiles_.

“ _A really hot guy who looks like he could bench-press me, Scott._ ”

Scott gave him a weird look. “Well yeah, I kinda thought that was your type?”

Stiles gave a strangled wail and buried his face in his arms. Scott patted him sympathetically on the back as Stiles mumbled, “I am but a hapless nerd and Derek fucking Hale looks like the god of toothpaste commercials and leather goods.”

Because he and Scott were grabbing bite at a local diner and there Derek was, sitting at the counter with a friend, having a shake and burger with such panache that it should have been punishable by law.

Or more specifically, so illegal that Stiles, who was interning for his dad over the summer, should be required by law to write him a citation (and totally score his number yeeees).

Scott just listened to Stiles’ rambling with the patience that could only be built up after long exposure to Stiles, like a callous, and patted Stiles' hand sympathetically from time to time.

Scott then looked up, past Stiles' shoulder and froze with a smile on his face.

Stiles whipped around and Derek gave him a disarming smile and slid a napkin toward him across the slightly sticky diner table before collecting his friend and leaving.

Stiles leaned out of the booth to stare longingly at that ass in those just-tight-enough jeans as his hand closed around the napkin. When he finally looked at it, a little dazed, he saw a phone number written there in blue ink.

Stiles laughed a little hysterically.

\---

“You should text him.” Scott grinned at Stiles, upside-down and dangerous. It was much later, and by that time they were both lying helter-skelter on Stiles’ bed.

Stiles squinted at him. “Are you fucking kidding? What would I even say?”

Scott sat up and held out an imperious hand. “Give me your phone.”

Stiles gripped his phone tighter and Scott eventually had to wrestle him for it.

After a flurried minute, Scott sat triumphantly on top of a protesting Stiles and texted something before hitting send and handing the phone back.

Stiles frantically checked what he just sent to Derek.

  
**Sent to: Derek Dreamboat Hale  
>what r u wearing? ;)**

Stiles let out an inarticulate noise and smacked a giggling Scott with a pillow, but by god, his phone was already vibrating with a response.

He checked it, heart in his mouth.  
  
**Sent from: Derek Dreamboat Hale  
>Quick off the mark, aren't you?**

Stiles groaned.  


  
**Sent to: Derek Dreamboat Hale**  
>sorry that was my friend  
  
>the one who was with me at the diner  
  
>hes a dick im so sorry

 ****  
  
Sent from: Derek Dreamboat Hale  
>No worries. Some other time, then. ;)

Scott was reading over Stiles' shoulder, and when he saw that he rolled off the bed, he was laughing so hard. Stiles screamed, “It's not funny, Scott! He's playing with my delicate little dweeb heart!”

But Scott was busy yelling, “Derek Hale has a crush on youuu! He wants to booone youuu!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendship and ship-ship vibes~

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, pretty people! Guess who's back with two degrees, a "real" job, and a fiance? (It's me)
> 
> Currently working on this story, which I started not long after finishing Witching Hour. I have a few chapters done, but am ready to cast the line out on this one, or however fishing actually works, in order to keep myself writing post-college. Actually gonna look into getting my first ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT published this year, so watch out for Birdpeople* (*Not my actual name) on the tops of the bestseller list in 2020!
> 
> Next chapter we continue the narrative responsibility surrounding those eggs.


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